


learning curves

by pollockroe



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24555991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollockroe/pseuds/pollockroe
Summary: "What's that?" Sylvain tries laughter out, but it doesn't fit and he only sounds more uncomfortable and put on the spot by every passing second. Naturally, this flies over Felix's head.Felix doesn't take his hands away from his hair, but he does pull. Sylvain doesn't so much as flinch, but the motion sends a jolt down his spine he's barely able to suppress, if not for years of practice.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 74





	learning curves

"Hey," Felix says, Sylvain's hair is caught between deft fingers, less suited for literally anything else but swordplay, and yet. 

"Hm?" Sylvain doesn't bother looking up from the book he's reading, nor does he lift his head from Felix's lap, reluctant home to it at the moment. He's not keen to think of anything else, not wanting to trample all over the delicate balance they've managed to settle into somehow. 

It's not so much normal as it is acceptable for the time being. For now. If Felix isn't going to complain about how he's off the training grounds, if he'll allow himself the time to wind down post battle, and instead let himself sit outside, with late afternoon sun weaving light between an old oak tree they'd found themselves under every fortnight, just barely past where Garreg Mach grounds seem to end (it's been hard to tell after the reclamation) then—then no, Sylvain has nothing to say about it. 

"Is this all you want?" The question doesn't spare Sylvain; doesn't give him the time to adjust to the recoil of Felix throwing it out into the open. 

Clearly, it isn't both of them who are thinking: let's not rock the boat. Though there's a big chance the thought never even crossed Felix's mind in the first place. 

These just happen, as things tend to do. 

"What's that?" Sylvain tries laughter out, but it doesn't fit and he only sounds more uncomfortable and put on the spot by every passing second. Naturally, this flies over Felix's head. 

Felix doesn't take his hands away from his hair, but he does pull. Sylvain doesn't so much as flinch, but the motion sends a jolt down his spine he's barely able to suppress, if not for years of practice. 

"Don't laugh," Felix mutters, frowning. 

The wind has been undoing his hair all afternoon, almost off from being pulled back the whole day, tucked behind an ear now, and Sylvain wonders if they'll ever get far enough into these—whatever these are, and Felix will sit still for more than five seconds and let Sylvain braid his hair or do some other inane repetitive task on it to keep his mind off one and a hundred things, the end of the war, where to begin unpacking all that's happened after losing Dimitri and the professor and finding them again, every attempt at the school by imperial forces, when the Margrave might try sending for him again.

Sylain wonders instead if Felix's hair is still as soft as when he was much younger, less stone-faced, before his brows were set to an almost perpetual furrow. 

"For your birthday," Felix explains, like that helps or makes the question less loaded. It doesn't. 

If Sylvain really lets himself think, he'd say, embarrassingly, unequivocally: yes. No excuses or explanations. 

But Sylvain doesn't like to allow himself much more than a passing thought if he can help it. He doesn't want to waste his time having an existential crisis about his life _and_ his best friend in the same measure—in front of the very one—when he can very well do this on his own time, like right before bed or when it's his turn to do the rounds around the monastery at night or when he's sent alone on a scouting mission or when they're on opposite sides of the battlefield. 

"Well," Sylvain jokes, because that's always supposed to be easier, "could use a kiss or five but that's-"

"Okay." 

"What?" 

"I said," Felix says, tugging again, and _goddess_ , that better not turn into an ill-formed habit or he's going to need to have words. 

"I said-" Felix starts again, and then much quieter, not necessarily a squeak because Felix would _never_ , "okay."

Sylvain's eyes are wide, not fixed on anything particularly, but when his eyes are ready to adjust they see only how Felix can't meet his gaze, the slight flush high on his cheeks; Sylvain could paint a picture honestly, but his brain just doesn't have that kind of mental capacity to process more than: what the fuck. 

He swallows thickly, anything he could say might come out wrong, ill-timed, and inappropriate. 

"Don't make me say it again," Felix warns, and Sylvain is already shuffling to sit up and inch closer because he can, because apparently, Felix will let him. 

He opens his mouth, closes it again, and when he can speak the only thing he can think to say is, "you- are you sure?" 

Felix looks testier by the second, but he doesn't seem like he's about to relent, shoulders squared like he's getting ready for open combat and the idea makes Sylvain almost laugh out loud. 

"Yes," Felix says, aggravated, he's already taken the initiative to hold Sylvain on either side of his face but not do more than that. 

There's a pause. One that lasts a second too long, bordering uncomfortable. 

Felix is serious about this, Sylvain realizes with what he can't differentiate between mounting terror of fucking up majorly or excitement, at the prospect of something new, of nudging closer towards a direction he didn't think they'd ever so much as brush past. 

"Annie says," Felix closes his eyes, breathes, opens them and looks at Sylvain, cloudy-eyed, "we've been skirting around "it" for years."

"I don't _get_ what "it" is because she won't tell me and because I think this is how it's always been anyway, but she says _maybe_ if I kissed you, I'd get it." 

Now, Sylvain laughs—because he can't help it anymore. His entire body shakes and Felix is still holding onto his head, frowning again no doubt. Deeper, maybe. 

"She said that, huh?" 

"She says a lot of things," Felix grumbles, "but," 

Sylvain tries to right himself in his seat the best that he can. The grass is starting to get itchy, or maybe he's just looking for other things to fixate on that aren't Felix right now. 

"But what?" He urges, letting himself put his hands on Felix's waist. Not as small he remembers, but his hands fit over them like they're meant to be there. He could be projecting. 

"I've never done this before," even the statement itself stuns Felix a little, like, maybe he just realized, holy shit I really did say I could let this menace to all of womankind (and then some) kiss me, but instead what follows is, "you're going to have to tell me how to do it properly." 

Which Sylvain would have no qualms about. 

He's taught Felix a lot of things over the years.

When Glenn left to join the knights, he'd taught Felix everything he'd been learning about the lance, he'd taught him how to pick locks so they could get into the chest Glenn left behind in his room, he'd taught him how to get down into the Gautier wine cellar and come back out without being seen, he'd taught Felix how to tie his hair back properly so it wouldn't get in the way of his training. 

Sylvain could think, this could just be one down a long list of many other things, but he doesn't. He can't and asks, 

"For what?" because he can't help it.

Felix stiffens momentarily under his touch, which seems like a bad sign for all of the four seconds that it takes place. 

Felix's ears are as pink as his cheeks are now, but he's looking right at Sylvain when he says, "so I can do it properly from now on, duh." 

Like it's obvious. 

Like, clearly, this is where they're supposed to be headed. 

"Do you want to or not?" Felix sighs impatiently.

Sylvain squeezes where he's holding onto him unintentionally, making Felix jolt from where he's sitting between Sylvain's legs when Sylvain says, "I want- I want to." 

"Okay," Felix says, again, grounding. For who that might've been isn't clear. 

Sylvain's hand shakes a little when he lifts one up to touch Felix's bottom lip, resting his thumb against it feather-light. 

"It's easier," Sylvain starts, "if you part your lips a little." 

Which does just the trick. 

He's done this a hundred times before, probably, but it the thought does little to change how novel it feels to have a hand on Felix's waist and another one against his cheek. 

"Yeah, like that," Sylvain says gently, when he inches closer experimentally, Felix doesn't pull back, just shuts his eyes tight and draws his shoulders in. 

"Relax, Fe," Sylvain tells him, he's close to his mouth and he feels so warm it's almost dizzying. 

A breeze blows past and finally lets all of Felix's hair lose, obscuring his face for a moment before Sylvain moves to brush it back for him and hold it down. 

He doesn't say anymore when he sees Felix touch the hand that's keeping his hair in place as if to say, here, now, and don't hold back. 

So Sylvain leaves his restraint behind for a moment, leans and finally presses his lips against Felix. 

He doesn't respond immediately, but when he does it's both overwhelming and everything he thought it'd feel like at the same time. 

Felix doesn't slowly move closer because he's Felix and when does he ever do things by halves? He moves quick and dumps himself on Sylvain's lap and lets go of where their hands were touching so he can wrap his arms around Sylvain's neck. He bites early, more than he's supposed to, and it's kind of painful, and nothing at all about it is easy and practiced, but it's good and warm, and exactly how it should be, and when Sylvain pulls away to take a breather, lips stinging a little, he just thinks he wants to do that again and again and again. 

"How was it?" Felix asks after a beat. 

For a moment, Sylvain considers telling him about how _great_ that felt, how right and how much he never wants to stop, but instead he cups Felix's cheek again, whose forehead is resting against his, and says, "terrible, you need so much practice, but I think there's a lot of potential here for-" 

Felix knees him gently in the stomach but doesn't pull away. 

"You're just a bad teacher," he shoots back, already angling to start again. 

"Maybe so," Sylvain agrees, "I guess that means we'll both have to get better at this somehow, huh?" 

"Somehow," Felix echoes, and then, "I guess." 

Something Sylvain hasn't seen in years passes across Felix's features, a soft smile, like concession, if only a split second. 

"We should head back before the sun sets," Felix tells him. It takes a few moments longer before he finally clambers off Sylvain's lap; the loss of his weight and the heat of where they'd last touch lingers, but isn't unwelcome. 

"Are you granting any more wishes today, oh great one," Sylvain asks as they walk he's peering over his shoulder from behind him even if he's taller, like maybe that'll help. 

"Depends," Felix responds, and then- "you're going to ask me to hold your hand, aren't you?" 

Sylvain just throws him a look, like, _c'mon, we got **this** far, _which might actually be pushing it by now, but Felix, for his part, quite literally shoves his hand into Sylvain's closing around it like his hands aren't smaller and sighs as they walk, this time, side by side. 


End file.
